The Origin of Empathy
by Calie1
Summary: There had to be a catalyst, even if it was of the most unpleasant nature. Love Over Time Universe. Follow up to Love Over Time.


Title: The Origin of Empathy 1/1  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: There had to be a catalyst, even if it was of the most unpleasant nature. Love Over Time Universe. Follow up to Love Over Time.  
Notes: Okay, here is the order for the Love Over Time universe:  
1. Love Over Time  
2. The Origin of Empathy  
3. Never Call a Man's Pregnant Girlfriend Hot  
4. Midnight Watchtower Duties and Feedings  
5. Lessons of a Different Kind

I'm going to go back and edit all of the stories on my livejournal page for the universe and post links at the end of each to bring you directly to the next story. Hopefully that helps. Reviews appreciated. Thanks to novadelphine for editing also. Check at the end for another note.

* * *

Oliver dropped to the familiar rooftop, glanced around his surroundings to be sure he was alone, then walked to the edge; his eyes trained on the stained glass of the Watchtower.

It had been two months since he'd walked away from Chloe, convinced it was the best thing for both of them and, as he'd feared, they were never able to come back from it. They spoke very little since then and when they did, it was always work-related, awkward and brief.

During the day, he would only seek her out when it was absolutely necessary, but at night, after his patrols, he would land on the same rooftop, stare across the night sky and watch her.

He hadn't begun the ritual as a way to torture himself – although if it was beginning to feel that way – it had actually started two weeks after the last time he'd really spoken with her.

_The sound and feel of wind at his back alerted him to Clark's presence. _

"_Clark," he drawled, eyes still trained on the papers spread out on his office desk, "so nice of you to drop by."_

"_I'm not going to be long."_

_Setting down his pen, he spun his chair to find the boy wonder himself standing in what Oliver could only assume were work clothes. "You look like a dork."_

"_What? Oh." Clark grabbed the glasses off his face and tucked them away. "Yea, well....some of us need disguises at night and some of us need disguises during the day."_

_Oliver nodded. "So what's up? Haven't seen you around lately. Lois already clamped on the old ball and chain?"_

"_No, it's about Chloe."_

_At the mention of the name he'd been trying so hard to forget, Oliver immediately sobered. "What about her?"_

"_I'm worried about her," Clark started, "she hasn't been the same since Connor left. She doesn't want to talk about it though, refuses too."_

_Oliver shrugged nonchalantly and turned in his chair to face his desk again, trying to hide any change in his features that might give away his involvement with Chloe. "I don't know Clark. You're her best friend. If anyone would know, it's you."_

"_I know that," Clark admitted in frustration, hating that he didn't know how to help his best friend, "but you know her, you're friends with her."_

_Oliver didn't like what Clark was hinting at. "If she isn't going to talk to you Clark, she definitely isn't going to talk to me."_

"_You're the only other person that can talk to her, the only other person that knows Connor is her son."_

_Oliver sighed and laid his pen down again, determined to put up a front and remove himself from the situation. "Look Clark, I get what you're saying, but there isn't anything I can do. I mean, I really don't think Chloe wants to tell me the kind of things that are bothering her. We aren't really friends like that."_

"_So you're not even going to try?" Clark asked in shock. Sure, he hadn't known Chloe as long, but Clark found it hard to believe that the man in front of him wouldn't even try. "Don't you even care?"_

_Oliver tensed at the question, wondering how Clark seemed to know exactly what to say to get to him. Because he did care and that's what had ended it all. It sounded ridiculous when he thought about it; the idea that he cared so much for Chloe that he refused to be with her, but regardless of what Connor said, Oliver couldn't see how he and Chloe could ever work out. The few months they'd shared had been too much and he'd quickly learned that he just couldn't juggle being CEO billionaire Oliver Queen, the Green Arrow and in love. Too many things and people depended on Queen Industries and the Green Arrow, so his own wants and needs had to be put to the side and she had agreed...at first, until she saw something that she actually wanted. It had never occurred to him that Chloe would want that life, not once. She had always been so driven to protect the world and was a stickler for her rules, always putting her friends and the world before her own needs, just like he had decided to do. He never thought for a moment that she would ever want a life outside of that. _

"_Of course I care," he choked out, shaking his thoughts away, "but I'm the last person to be telling someone how to be happy. Just be her friend Clark, I'm sure that's all she wants, a shoulder to lean on." _

_He didn't miss the slightly disgusted look that Clark gave him just before he sped out of the office as quickly as he'd arrived. The last thing Oliver wanted was to appear cold towards Chloe, but in the end it was best._

He may have refused Clark's plea to talk to Chloe, but he couldn't deny himself the need to at least check on her. So that night, after his conversation with Clark, he'd made his way to the rooftop he stood upon now and watched her. Some times, he'd only stay for a minute and some times, he'd stay longer. No matter what, he'd stop in to check on her, regardless of the time or whether it was on his way or not.

Tonight she wasn't in front of the computers and instead, was keeping herself busy cleaning her kitchen. It was odd to see her doing something so domestic. Even when he was still comfortable spending his time at the Watchtower, he'd never seen her do anything that wasn't hero related. During the time he'd spent watching her, he'd discovered that Chloe did a lot of things he never thought about. In fact it was the normal day to day things that he spotted her doing that bothered him the most for some reason. It was those things that made him linger longer.

* * *

"Alright, if my intel is correct, the weapons should be stored underground. There's only one room that I haven't been able to pick up on the satellites, so I think that's our best starting point. Remember, this is a bit of a shot in the dark, so keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary."

Striking her keyboard, Chloe enlarged the map of the warehouse.

"_What exactly is this used for again?"_

Clark's voice was the only constant in her ear as Oliver rarely ever chimed in.

"They manufacture soap," she explained, but that wasn't what Clark and Oliver were after. She'd found out through the grapevine that an Intergang shipment of alien weapons was making a one night only stop over in Metropolis before heading to Gotham City. Though the timeline was tight, there was no way they could pass up on the chance to make the interception.

For a brief moment she had considered trying to contact this Batman character that she'd been hearing more and more about, but Clark had advised against it, worried about trusting a stranger. It was the kind of occasion - when Clark's good old boy character got in her way - that she used to turn to Oliver, but he wasn't there to turn to anymore, so she'd followed Clark's wishes.

The thought of Oliver and his lack of presence in her life caused her stomach to twist into knots, as it often did when she dwelled too much on him.

"_Soap?" _Clark echoed, breaking her out of her reflecting.

"_Enough chit chat, can we just concentrate and get in and out of here?"_

She swallowed at Oliver's clipped interruption. Even though the distorted voice was unrecognizable as his, she could still pick up on the tension that laced his tone. Tense seemed to describe their relationship perfectly.

* * *

"_Chargers set. Ready to blow in five minutes."_

Chloe did one more scan, checking for any signs of life in the vacant warehouse. "It's clear. Go ahead and get out boys."

"_Arrow out."_

She received another affirmative from Clark and then waited, watching the small dots which represented Clark and Oliver move on her screen. She glanced over at the vitals for both men, noting that they were normal; Oliver exhibiting a slightly elevated heart rate, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Then she saw it, three heat signatures moving Oliver's way and five more towards Clark.

"Arrow you've got three coming around the corner to your right any minute now. Two hundred feet. Boy Scout, five more headed your way, coming from behind, three hundred feet." Her heart pounded faster as she saw the heat signatures closing in. "Arrow, there's another door up ahead to your left, go through it."

"_There's not enough time."_

"There is enough, just-." Then she heard the familiar whizz of an arrow over her headset, followed by yelling and gunshots. "Boy Scout!" She hollered, but there was no response, just the sounds of struggle. The heat signatures were upon Clark and from the scuffling sounds, she realized he was having his own problems.

"Arrow! Get through the door now!"

Nothing. She stood from her chair, staring around in panic, but there was nothing she could do. She heard more shots and then Oliver's vitals were off the charts, warnings flashing on his screen. "Arrow! Come in!" She heard coughing, but still no response. "Boy Scout!"

"_I'm on my way."_

The heat signatures that hadn't scattered were still and so was Oliver. "Arrow?" She breathed. Suddenly, his heart rate and pulse started to drop. "No," She whispered and shook her head. "No, Oliver, listen to me. Just hang on okay? You're going to be fine. You've got to be fine."

"_He's been shot. At least twice."_

Clark's words were like a punch to the gut. Even though she had already suspected what had happened, she hadn't been prepared for it. "Emil," she said shakily, watching Oliver's vitals on the screen. "Get him to Emil."

* * *

Eight hours, that's how long Chloe had sat with Clark, waiting to find out if Oliver would be okay.

In the first few hours, the most they'd heard was that Oliver had flat lined, but Emil and his team had managed to revive him.

After six hours, Emil had emerged from the operating room with his scrubs covered in blood and his face grave. He'd revealed that they were going to run some tests so they could discover the extent of Oliver's wounds. Chloe had demanded to know what tests, but Emil only shook his head and walked off, leaving her screaming behind him and forcing Clark to pull her back.

It was the eighth hour when Emil finally came back, blood scrubbed away and clad in a clean set of scrubs.

"What's going on?" Chloe demanded forcefully, meeting Emil halfway with Clark on her heels.

"Oliver was shot three times. Once in the arm, which was not life threatening, then twice in the stomach," Emil paused, allowing them to absorb his words fully. Then after dragging in a deep breath he continued. "When you brought Oliver in, he wasn't breathing. I have no idea for how long, but it was long enough. We also did a CT scan," he paused, unable to keep the shakiness from his voice. "There is no brain activity. The only thing keeping Oliver alive right now is the machines."

She tried to swallow, but something was stopping her. There was no way of getting past the lump forming in her throat. The world seemed to shake around her and she would have sworn it had turned on its axis. "But, but...." He wasn't dead, she had seen it. She knew it. Chloe had seen Connor, talked to Connor. Oliver wasn't dead, he couldn't be. It was impossible. "No," Chloe shook her head, "he can't be, because he's..." It was the look on Emil's face, the pain there that ultimately undid her, pushed through her denial. "No!" Chloe pushed him aside, ready to storm through the doors he just came through, but Clark's hands on her arms stopped her. "Let me go!"

"Chloe," Clark soothed, pulling her back and wrapping his arms around her. She pushed at his chest, putting enough distance between them that she was able to land a hard slap against his cheek. Even when she screamed and dug her nails into his chest he held her still, pulled her closer, unconcerned by the marks she was trying to inflict upon him. For a moment she struggled, cursing at him and then she slumped, sobbing.

"I've got to see him Clark," she cried into his chest, grasping at his shirt. "Please."

"Okay, okay," he said in a gentle whisper. "You can, I promise."

Dead. The word seemed foreign to her somehow, regardless of how many people she had seen die, her own ex-husband being one of them. But at that moment, she didn't even know the word.

It wasn't his time, she knew that, at least she thought she did.

For a moment she struggled to figure out what had gone wrong as Clark held her, letting her sob into his chest. What had happened to change things so drastically? Had Connor's presence ultimately undone everything, even though he had saved her life? Had they made some wrong decision along the way that had altered what had been set in motion? Had she not sent Oliver and Clark into that building in Connor's timeline?

As she continued to cry, lost to everything but her own thoughts, she only caught brief snippets of their conversation.

"Alert the others...do not resuscitate...plans for his death...cover up...tonight."

Then she felt her legs go out, not even caring as she slumped to the floor and out of Clark's arms. He caught her of course, but it barely registered that he'd lifted her and was carrying her away from Emil. Clark called her name, but she barely heard him and slowly, everything became dark.

* * *

In the darkness, barely awake to the world, it hit her. With a chocked sob she opened her eyes, staring up into the fluorescent lighting. Then she was gasping and heaving, trying to breathe.

"Hey, hey, hey." Clark stepped forward to the bed, resting a hand on her arm as she rolled onto her side and continued to heave. Recognizing the signs, Clark grabbed a trash can and placed it beside the bed. With her head hung over the railing, she vomited. Wincing slightly with concern, Clark took another step closer and pulled back her hair as he tried to whisper words of comfort to her. Even when she was done she just laid there, her head hanging over the side of the bed, crying. "Okay, come on." Gently, Clark settled her back against the pillow. Grabbing the wet rag he had wiped her face with earlier and cleaned her face. "You're okay."

Pushing herself up and throwing her legs over she moved to stand, but he was in front of her, stopping her. "I need to see him."

For a moment Clark seemed like he was going to try and make her lay back down for a moment, but she was steady enough on her feet and her expression was determined. Plus, they didn't have much time. "Okay."

He led her away, bringing her back into the hallway. As they walked she glanced to where she last remembered standing, her stomach turning at the thought of what had happened there. They stopped at the set of doors that she knew Oliver was behind and Clark turned to her.

"I'll be right out here if you need me."

Chloe nodded and then turned towards the doors, pushing them open. A woman glanced up from the hospital bed in the middle of the room and then nodded gently. Chloe stood stock still as the woman in white passed her, exiting the room, leaving only Chloe, Oliver, the soft sound of the ventilator and the beeping of his monitors. With hesitant steps, she carried herself towards him. It was when she finally saw his face that her steps faltered, but she trudged on.

As she'd walked down the stark white hallway with Clark, she'd been determined to keep her emotions under control, because if she didn't, then she'd lose it and never be able to leave his side again. She quickly realized, though, that it was a lost cause.

As she slowly came to his side a whimper escaped her. She bit her lips in response, trying to hold herself together, but it was impossible.

Hauling a knee onto his bed and propping her other foot on the metal railing, Chloe dropped her face into his neck, sobbing into its warmth. "Ollie...please don't do this to me." She turned her head, resting her cheek on his shoulder and slid a hand over his chest, staying clear of the bandage taped to his skin. With a shaky breath she raised her head, forcing herself to look into his face. It broke her, seeing how serene he looked. She pressed her hand to one side of his jaw and her cheek to the other side she sobbed, gasping, praying that Clark wouldn't hear her and come in to pull her away. "I don't know what I did to screw this up. I'm sorry, but I can't do this without you Ollie, I just can't."

Scooting closer, she raised her head again and brought her free hand to his cheek; her thumb grazing over the light beard growing. To feel something so normal, so alive, it made her shudder. "You can't be dead." Dropping her forehead against his own, her nose brushing his, she looked down into his closed eyes "I shouldn't have let you walk away. I should have made you understand it was more than that for me. Maybe you would have left anyway, but I should have still said it," she whispered. Gently she pressed her lips to his and closed her eyes. "I love you," she cried softly, her lips pressed against his soft flesh, but his mouth didn't move against hers, his lips remained still, unmoving. With a strangled sob she dropped her face back into his neck.

Connor had been wrong, there wasn't any happiness. Maybe it had all be a lie, maybe Oliver had been right. Still, she had wished so dearly for it. She'd kept wishing for that young man who had come to the past, saved her life, cried over her own dying body and healed her. It made it even more painful to know she couldn't even heal Oliver. Connor had claimed she got her healing power back, but either he was wrong, or it wasn't soon enough, not soon enough for Oliver at least.

There would be no happy ending, no snarky young man with his father's good looks and talent, no little boy getting hurt trying to be like daddy. They were gone to her, both of them. Oliver and Connor. In one day she'd lost them both and they'd taken her heart with them. The realization was painful, this knowing that the two people she loved more then anyone else in the world were lost to her. If there was any pity in the world she'd die there, because she couldn't bare to wake up to a world without Oliver and Connor in it. Nothing else mattered. Closing her eyes against Ollie's neck, she prayed foolishly for a chance to fix things, for a second chance, even if it involved giving her own life down the line, just to save Oliver and Connor's, it didn't matter.

Slowly, she felt herself slipping, losing what energy she did have and she silently prayed that she never woke. Lights lit the room, the brightness finding its way through her closed lids. When she opened them she gasped.

With what energy she had left she forced herself up, looking down into his face, keeping her hand firmly against his cheek. It was blinding and she could barely see him; just able to make out the features of his face. Lowering her head once more she pressed her lips against his before gasping in pain.

* * *

For the past hour, Emil had listened to the slow, steady line of beeps and then suddenly, they changed, jumped and came together faster. Whipping around in his chair, he stared at the monitor, hardly believing his eyes before launching himself out of his chair and down the hall.

* * *

Clark heard him coming before he actually saw him. "Emil?"

"Something is wrong!" Pushing past Clark, Emil threw open the doors and found nothing. Nothing except Chloe laying over Oliver's still body. The machines told a different story though, the beeps continuing to rise and grow stronger.

"What's wrong?" Clark asked, following Emil forward. "Chloe?" But she didn't move, not an inch. Clark listened then, really listened, catching the steady thump of Oliver's heart, but Chloe's...Clark heard nothing from Chloe's. "Oh, no."

* * *

Gasping for breath Oliver opened his eyes, trying to sit up, but feeling a weight upon him. He barely caught sight of Emil and Clark before looking down at his side to spot Chloe.

"Chloe?" She didn't even move. Sitting up carefully he grasped at her arm, hauling her into his lap. "Chloe?" Her head fell backwards, neck bared to him. Panicked, he brought his fingers to her pulse, but felt nothing. Then he checked again. "No, Chloe..."

"Let me take her," Clark said gently, stepping froward. Oliver's clear brown eyes met his own. "She's fine," Clark tried to reassure him. "I promise."

"She's dead!" Oliver yelled, finally coming back to himself. "How the hell can she be fine!" His chest tightened with emotion and his eyes stung with unshed tears.

"Because you were dead Oliver," Clark said slowly. "Somehow she healed you." Taking advantage of Oliver's shock, Clark slid his arms underneath Chloe's body and lifted her from Oliver's bed. "She'll be fine, I promise."

Emil moved around Clark and pushed Oliver back by his shoulder. Gently, he began to unwrap the bandages, still being careful of any possible wounds, but it hadn't been necessary. "Impossible."

Turning his eyes from Clark and Chloe, Oliver looked down to his stomach, finding healed skin where Emil's hand had removed the bandage. With a growl he yanked the IV out of his arm and got to his feet, ignoring Emil's exclamations and insistence that Oliver lay back down. Pulling at the remaining bandages that were wrapped over his stomach and arm his gaze flew around the room. "Can I get some damn pants?!"

* * *

"How long?" Oliver said from his chair next to Chloe. He was rocking gently back and forth with his elbows digging into his knees and his chin resting on his laced fingers

"I don't know..." Clark trailed off. "It was different every time."

"How long Clark?" Oliver ground out.

"The last time," Clark turned away from Oliver and stared at Chloe's form, then looked at the monitors that Emil had hooked up to her dead body, "eighteen hours."

Oliver released a shaky sigh and buried his face in his hands. Eighteen hours. Eighteen hours of waiting for her to take a breath, a breath that he wasn't even sure she would take. "I need a minute." He didn't even look up to see if Clark was leaving. The soft sounds of steps were his answer. When the doors closed he looked back up and slowly stood. In just one step he was at her side and sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. "God Chloe..." With Clark gone he was finally free to reach out and touch her, slide his fingers over her face as he had wanted to do for the past two months. It didn't feel like her though, there was none of the warmth he had gotten so used to, that he'd had grown so accustomed to having pressed against his own body.

The skin was still soft underneath his hands, pliant, but it was cold - deathly cold - and it was because of him. She'd healed every bullet wound, every bruise, every scratch. Chloe had taken his pain and his death into herself and what had he done to deserve it? Nothing.

The realization was like a slap to the face. For some time he'd thought he had things figured out, that he was finally on his way to redemption and doing right in the world, only to find himself back into the same mold all over again; the foolish, selfish, immature, playboy billionaire. Oliver had only been involved with Chloe for sex and when things started to get serious, he'd run. To be fair, she did too, but it was him in the end who'd been scared of what Connor's appearance and Chloe's feelings meant. He'd been the one to run away scared.

With a sigh, he drew his hand from her cold cheek and slid off the bed and back into his chair. Drawing the seat closer, he propped his elbows on her mattress and dropped his face into his arms. "I'm sorry Chloe." Turning his head he rested his cheek on his forearm and stared up at her face. "I was selfish. I didn't want to think what it would mean to you. I thought it was the right sacrifice to make for the greater good, because I didn't need happiness, but I never wanted to sacrifice yours." Or her life.

It was so amazingly stupid that it always took something drastic to make him see things clearly. It was almost disconcerting how easily and how often he slipped; too blind to see his bad decisions until it was too late. He'd done it with his own parents, with Doomsday and now, with Chloe.

After he'd found his way the last time...or more accurately, after she'd _made_ him find his way, he'd pushed aside the outside influences and vowed to check his emotions, thinking it was necessary. As always though, it still caught up with him in the end. When he had cut off Chloe, it was to rid himself of the emotions that he assumed would lead him astray once again. It didn't matter that she didn't see it, or that some young man had come from the future, claiming to be their son and believing with such conviction that they loved each other. None of that mattered. What mattered was doing what he felt was right at that time and that meant removing the one thing that would break him, make him weaker; Chloe.

She'd gotten too close - had come to mean too much to him – and he'd pushed her away for protection; to protect himself, to protect their cause and to protect her. At least, he thought he'd been protecting her, but as he stared up into her face, noting its deathly pallor, he grimly realized he'd failed on all counts.

The real kicker was that he was worse off than he'd been before. He'd been so certain that having her close was a distraction, but in reality, separating himself from her was the real liability. It wasn't natural for him to stop by after every patrol to watch her from a far; it wasn't sane for him to lay awake in bed every night because he couldn't stop thinking about her. In the end, breaking it off with her had done the damage that he'd feared being with her would cause.

Being with her was scary, but being away from her was misery. It had only served to make him realize there was no way out, no turning back and no turning off his feelings for her like he thought he'd be able to. He thought when he walked out the watchtower two months ago that he could walk away, forget her in time, but that was impossible.

Realizing the futility of his intent, Oliver, for the first time, really began to wonder if Connor had been right, because from where Oliver was sitting, there was no way out of whatever it was he had fallen into with Chloe. Imagining a future without her made him ill.

A knock at the door drew his attention and he lifted his head to spot Clark pushing into the room slowly, followed by Emil.

"How are you feeling Oliver?" Clark asked him quietly.

He slouched back against his chair. "As good as new," he responded glumly.

"The two of you are going to send me into early retirement," Emil mumbled as he walked around to the empty side of the bed.

Oliver watched as he checked her over, waiting impatiently for something.

"No change," Emil muttered in amazement. "Rigger should have set in by now, but it hasn't. If it weren't for the lack of vitals and the feel of her skin, there wouldn't be any signs of death at all."

As far as Oliver was concerned, Emil might as well have been speaking a different language entirely. "So what does that mean?"

"Well, I guess Clark may be right," Emil admitted, offering an uncharacteristic shrug. "If rigger isn't setting in, then something else is going on here. I'm going to run some blood tests and continue to monitor her since we have very little to go on in respect to what happens when she dies from her healing. I have no way of guessing when she will wake though. Clark said the second time she died it took longer for her to wake, but that incident was awhile ago and by all accounts, her powers had disappeared. Perhaps they'd only been dormant or depleted from protecting herself from Braniac."

Oliver sighed and dropped his head into his hands again, hating himself more and more with each word Emil said, the other man's speech reminding Oliver that Chloe had been through just as much as he had, that she'd sacrificed just as much, but she'd still been willing to try, with him.

"I would suggest you get some rest Oliver," Emil advised him carefully. "Regardless of how well you appear, you can not continue to just sit here."

"Watch me," he dismissed quickly.

"Oliver..." Clark began, but Oliver cut him off with a sharp look, the obvious pain in his dark eyes shaking Clark because the last place he had expected to see such emotion was on Oliver's face. "I'll get you some clothes."

"And my car." Clark stopped mid turn and looked at him.

"Just pick a set of keys, I'm sure you can find a car somewhere in the garage," he said off handedly and turned back to Chloe, not even noticing when Clark took his leave. Emil remained, saying nothing as he drew sample after sample, the blood dark and almost black as it filled each tube.

When he was finally done and hurrying out of the room, Oliver moved his chair closer again, grasping the arm that lay at her side and resting his forehead upon it. When she woke – and he was determined that she would – he was out of there and he was taking her with him. He would fix this, he had to.

* * *

Lifting his head from the back of his chair, Oliver glanced at the room's clock and let out a heavy sigh. It had been five hours since Chloe had healed him, but it already felt like an eternity and regardless of what Emil had said about rigger, she looked dead. Her body was chilled, her skin deathly pale, her veins were purple and prominent. Sighing again, he leaned forward and dug his elbows into his knees, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He rubbed at her still arm through the sheet that covered it; something he'd done quite often over the past five hours, hating how cool her limb felt under his fingers. "I swear Chloe, when you wake up, I'll fix this. I screwed up. And right now, I can't even think of a reasonable explanation why, they all sound like excuses." They were excuses. Excuses from a man who was too weak to handle a serious relationship and follow through with his calling. He only prayed that when she woke she would take him back. He wouldn't even let himself consider the possibility that she might not. The very idea left an emptiness inside of him that he knew he wouldn't be able to live with and that scared him even more, knowing that she already meant so much to him, more then anyone he'd ever met. For a moment he actually wondered if it was more than just caring for her; if it was something deeper that had made him think he had to leave her. For the first time, he let himself consider that he might have fallen in love with her.

All thoughts fled his mind when she breathed suddenly, setting the machines around her into a frenzy of beeps. Standing abruptly, Oliver knocked his chair back and leaned over her bed. Her green eyes snapped wide open, her gaze locked straight ahead, but not on him. "Hey," he said gently, but it wasn't until he touched his hand to her face that she acknowledged him.

The shock of waking was immediately replaced by the even greater shock of seeing Oliver standing above her. "Oliver...? You're okay."

He swallowed roughly at the concern that tinged her voice. "Thanks to you," he choked out, his thumb caressing her cheek for a brief second before the room's door was thrown open and a panicked Emil was flying in.

* * *

There was a soft knock at the door and Chloe pushed the curtain out of the way in response. "Come in," she called out. The door opened to reveal Oliver, his face as unreadable as it had been when he'd stepped away from her following Emil's harried entrance. Her mind skipped back further, to the short moment they'd shared when she'd first awoken and she'd seen the concern on his face; had felt his hand on her cheek.

"Talk to Clark?" He asked evenly, doing his best to keep the conversation light.

"Yea, he's stuck down at the Planet with Lois. I told him to stay there. We've all been MIA for too long." Glancing around she spotted her shoes by the chair and walked barefoot across the cold floor to take a seat.

"I've got my end covered," he noted, "of course, you'd taken care of most of it already." At some point after he'd been shot Chloe had rearranged his calendar.

She paused in the middle of slipping on her heels and glanced up at him, a flicker of pain showing on her face before she looked down again. As hard as it was to believe, he knew his near death had hurt her. Even if he hadn't been able to guess, Clark's description of her distress had been proof enough. He hated himself for putting her through that. When she'd been the one lying in the hospital bed, he'd at least had Clark and Emil's assurances that she would wake up, even if he hadn't fully believed them at the time. She hadn't had that kind of comfort and as far as she knew, he'd been good and dead.

"Come on," he urged her quietly. "I'm going to take you home."

She glanced up again as she finished with her shoes. "You don't have to-."

"Yes I do." There was a moment where they just stared, their eyes glued to one another before she nodded and was standing.

They didn't talk as they walked to his car, each of them too overcome with their own thoughts to even attempt any conversation, but Chloe did notice how he was constantly stepping forward to open doors for her and he even walked around the car to get the passenger door for her. She mumbled a brief thank you and then slid in.

The car ride back to the Watchtower was plagued with tense silence. Oliver was trying his best to calm his anxiety and appear collected, but he suspected he was most likely failing miserably. He only hoped she hadn't noticed.

As he drove them back to the Tower he struggled to find the words to express himself. He'd spent too long ignoring what was going on, making a mess of things, for him to leave her again. It wouldn't do either of them any good to prolong the inevitable.

As they pulled up, Chloe reached for the passenger side door, but a hand on her other wrist stopped her. Glancing down at his larger hand restraining her own and then up into Oliver's brown eyes, she tried her best to quell the beating of her heart at the intense look she found there.

"We need to talk." There was a moment where she said nothing, just stared blankly at him before she nodded. Releasing her wrist he moved to exit his car and follow her into the building.

* * *

Pushing open the doors to the Watchtower was almost cathartic; the feeling of being home and in her comfort zone helping to ease the way Oliver's presence was sending her heart racing to the point she thought it might leap out of her chest.

She glanced over to her station and instantly remembered sitting there, hearing the gunshots, Oliver's ragged breathing and, finally, Clark's words. She shook her head to fight off the chill the memory sent down her spine and she turned away from the monitors to continue through the Tower. Reaching the small conference table at the centre of the room, she grabbed a hold of it for balance and slipped out of her shoes. She was settling her bare feet on the cool floor when his hand wrapped around her wrist again and turned her around gently to face him.

"Chloe...I'm sorry about last night," he started, deciding it would be best to broach the most pressing issues: his brush with death, her own and the return of her powers. Although he'd already decided he wouldn't dwell too long on what had happened, he knew they had to address the events of the last 24 hours before they could even start in on the other serious matters between them.

"It wasn't your fault," she whispered painfully, reluctantly remembering how close he'd come to being gone.

"I know, but I'm sorry I had to put you through that."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're alright."

"About that..." He wasn't even sure how to talk to her about the return of her meteor ability. During the time that he'd known her, it had never come up. She had experienced it when they were nothing more than two people working together, when he'd been pining after Lois and she'd been involved with Jimmy. Now that it had returned though...he didn't know what to say. During his vigil over her dead body, he'd been plagued by thoughts of what this would development would mean for the future, the danger it would put her in and the danger she would put herself in. Chloe was more than willing to sacrifice herself for the greater good and he highly suspected this wouldn't be the last time he would have to keep watch over her. Just the thought of it made him sick.

"I don't know Oliver," she shrugged. "It just happened. For all I know that could have been it, it may never happen again."

If it didn't he would have been relieved, but somehow he couldn't believe that. Glancing around, he walked towards her kitchen.

Confused, she watched him walk away and pull open one of the drawers. Too curious to stop herself, she followed him. "What are you doing?"

"Testing a theory," he answered simply as he shut the drawer again. Then he spotted the knife block pushed against the back of her counter and took a step towards it. Grabbing what he hoped was a sharp blade, he moved over to her sink, pressed the knife into his palm and pulled it along his skin.

"Oliver!" Chloe exclaimed, bounding forward to rip the knife from his grip and drop it into the sink. "You idiot!" Snatching his hand in both of hers, she expected the long gash that was already starting to bleed. "This is how you test your theory! You could have just pricked your finger!"

"I had to be sure." She looked up at him and swallowed nervously before nodding and glancing down again. For a moment she just cradled his wounded hand over the sink in her two smaller ones, but then he saw the glow emanating between them. Slowly, he felt the stinging pain begin to disappear and watched in slight amazement as the wound closed. She gasped suddenly, pulling one of her hands away from his and fisting it against her stomach with a wince. The light faded, but he staved his shock as he noticed her face twisting in pain. Grabbing her fisted hand, he pulled it back towards him and forced open, only to see nothing. "What happened?"

"Healing doesn't come without consequence. I give up my own energy or life and absorb the wound," she said slowly, debating whether or not she should continue to explain and ultimately deciding to give him the entire truth. "Including the pain of it."

It was like a slap to the face as he realized exactly what she'd said. She'd felt all of it; the bruises, the cuts, the bullet wounds, everything he had received in the fight, including the knife wound he had inflicted upon himself. "Chloe, I'm-."

"No," she said quickly as she shook her head as she reached for a towel. "What matters is that we're both alive." Turning on the faucet she pushed his hand underneath the cool water to rinse away the remaining blood, pulling it out after a moment to dry it gently with a towel.

Forgetting for a moment about her healing ability he watched her in silence, already feeling anxious about what he would have to do. There was no easy way of saying it and having her tending to him so carefully was only making harder. As she released his hand, he grabbed one of hers, removing the towel from her grip to toss it to the side.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I already told you, its fine, we're alive," she said simply and started to pull away again, but his hand tightened around hers.

"Not about that," he told her carefully, "about everything. About two months ago, about the time before that. Chloe, I-." He felt himself falter.

There was so much he could say: _Chloe, I love you. I need you. I thought I could live without you but I can't._ The thoughts were all so foreign though. The idea of saying any of them out loud seemed completely impossible, but he knew if he didn't say something, she'd be gone from his life again and next time, he might not get a second chance.

Bringing a hand to her face he ploughed forward. "I was wrong, about all of it. I thought things would be better in the long run without any attachments, but things never got any easier. You were right when you told me that one day I'd fall for someone and I wouldn't be able to stop it." He watched her as she blinked furiously and her green eyes shone brighter with tears, his stomach knotted of guilt and fear. He released a shuddered breath and slid his hand to the back of her head so that his fingers were laced into her blond hair. As he tilted her head slowly back he pressed his forehead against her own. "When I walked away two months ago," he whispered softly, "it was already too late for me then, I had already fallen for you and I hate myself everyday for making that mistake. I don't want to go another day without you."

Her chest heaved with short, shuddered breaths as he tore into her heart again. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, but she did nothing to hide them, instead trying to wrap her mind around his words and believe that he was really standing in front of her saying what she thought he was. "Ollie...." She almost whimpered and raised her hands to his chest to grasp at his t-shirt. "Don't hurt me."

It was such a heartfelt plea that he couldn't help but feel the full repercussions of his actions. It would take more then just a day for her to trust him, even if she did let him back into her life. He'd hurt her more than he had ever intended and now he would have to deal with the effects of it, but it didn't matter, he had time, he'd fix it.

"I won't," he vowed, his forehead still pressed against her own. "Never again." She nodded just barely, but it was more than enough. Closing the inches between them, he brought his lips against hers, finally kissing her.

* * *

Note 2: I'm working on the follow up to this, which will be MUCH more light hearted and fun. Unfortunately I'm no where near done with it, but there is a reason for that. It is 's going to take place about a month after.


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